


Gently Down The Stream

by thinkwinkink



Category: When Calls the Heart (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkwinkink/pseuds/thinkwinkink
Summary: A sunny day calls for a trip out on the water. Too bad Elizabeth can row about as well as she can sew.





	Gently Down The Stream

**Author's Note:**

> Yet again I write despite a lack of true inspiration.  
> It's worth noting that the fifth series isn't on Australian Netflix yet, so I don't know how their engagement goes down. I'm extrapolating.

“It's such a lovely day,” Elizabeth sighed happily. “Maybe we should go out on the lake, later.”

It was still early, and already the air was warm and the sun shining down on Hope Valley. 

Jack swallowed his mouthful of coffee, already shaking his head. 

“I have to witness the signing over of the Baker farm to the new owners,” he said. “Don't know how long it's going to take, but there have been three disagreements over the contracts already, so I doubt it’ll go smoothly.”

Elizabeth offered a pained smile from where she leant against the banister in front of the gaol, hands cradling the cup of coffee he had given her. He always made it so strong, she could hardly bear it. 

“Maybe I'll go by myself, then,” she said lightly. She didn't really mean it, but she didn't want him to think she was put out. 

He was comfortably propped up in one of the chairs on the little deck, looking serene as anything. Until he froze with his tin cup halfway up to his lips, eyes snapping to hers as she spoke. The ghost of a disbelieving smirk tugged at his face. 

“You're going to row out onto the lake?” he asked mildly. “By yourself?”

Well. 

She may enjoy going out on the water with him, and she may normally let him do the rowing, but it was hardly inconceivable that she go without him. 

Elizabeth lifted her chin proudly.

“Do you have a problem with that?” she challenged. 

“Not a problem, no,” he said, voice hinting at laughter. “I just didn't think you would be much for… captaining a boat.”

He wore that boyish grin as he finished, but she was in no mood to be charmed. 

“I am perfectly capable of wrangling a little rowboat on my own,” she declared, drawing herself up to her full height. “I assure you, a woman's skirt doesn't get in the way of pushing a pair of oars about.”

“A corset might,” he pointed out, but at least had the good grace to look a little sorry for that comment when he saw her face. 

“Maritime prowess is in my blood,” she said airily, handing him back her full cup of coffee and sweeping down the stairs. “I'm a Thatcher.”

She made it two steps before a strong arm snagged her around the waist. 

“Not for much longer,” he murmured in her ear. 

She shivered, but kept her head held high and eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge her fiancé. 

He ducked forward to give her a kiss on her cheek, and then let her go, heading for his horse. 

She was still somewhat annoyed, though it couldn't outweigh the affection such a touch stirred up. Nevertheless, she marched off in the direction of her row house intent on picking out a good book and her parasol before heading down to the lake. 

+++

“Hey, Gabe, what are you doing?” James asked as he sauntered up to his friend. Gabe looked like a fool, half couched and peering over a bush to look at the lake. 

“Shh, get down,” he chastised, motioning for him to crouch too. 

James rolled his eyes but obliged.

“Miss Thatcher is in that there rowboat,” Gabe whispered. 

Suddenly, James was grinning and peering over the bush too. 

“I don't see anyone,” he whispered back. 

“She's lying down,” Gabe explained. “I watched her try to steer back to the bank for ten minutes before she gave up.”

“I would have thought she'd have no idea what she was doing,” he said, eyeing the boat thoughtfully. 

“You would have thought right. One of the funniest things I've ever seen,” he snickered. “She can only have gotten all the way out there by accident.”

“I wish she'd do it again,” James muttered. 

“I've been waiting to see if she will, but doesn't seem likely,” Gabe shrugged. “Maybe we should take the other boat out and help her back.”

At that suggestion, a devious smile spread across James’ face. 

“Or,” he smirked, “we could just take the other boat.”

“What?”

“We could just carry the other boat away, hide it behind the church or something,” he explained. “I bet Mountie Jack will turn up soon, and if he can't go get her, it's guaranteed to be hilarious.”

“I dunno…” Gabe frowned. 

“Come on,” he urged, grabbing his shoulder. “If no one comes in the next two hours, we'll go and get her ourselves.”

Apparently, that was all the assuring he needed. Gabe nodded, and the two of them ran to where the two rowboats always lay in the mud, resting by the little fishing jetty. Keeping an eye on Miss Thatcher, or rather the hands and book they could see sticking above the edge of her little dinghy.

They picked up the boat, struggling a bit under the weight, and briskly headed for the church, grinning like idiots. 

+++

“Elizabeth?”

The familiar voice made her sit up suddenly making the boat rock and her heart lurch. Twisting, she saw him. 

Jack stood on the grassy edge, no longer in uniform. He waved, and she waved back. She couldn't see his expression, since he was dishearteningly far away. 

He beckoned, and she bit her lip. It would take her until nightfall to get to him, at the very least. 

When she had pushed off that morning, gingerly hopping aboard and trying to stay dry while doing it, she had been bullheaded and determined she could easily master the vessel. Well. She had spent a while trying to glide out a little farther into the lake, and had only managed to spin the boat, drift sideways, and nearly capsize twice. 

She had decided that was far enough and settled in to read, and nibble on Abigail's shortbread. 

About an hour later, she had decided to return to shore. That, unfortunately, was easier said than done. She had only drifted away from her goal the longer she floundered. So, she just sat there. Looking at Jack, silently daring him to make fun of her. 

He apparently thought she didn't understand what he wanted. 

“Come over here, I'll join you,” he called. 

She cleared her throat awkwardly. 

“I can't,” she said, barely above speaking volume. 

“What?” Jack yelled, making an exaggerated gesture with his hand to his ear. She laughed weakly despite her predicament. 

“I can't,” she called. “I don't know how to steer!”

He was silent for a minute. Elizabeth wished she could see his expression, and was also glad she couldn't.

“Then just go in a straight line,” he said, sounding bemused.

“I can't do that either,” she ground out. 

She heard him laugh, and crossed her arms. 

“Just move both oars at the same time,” he shouted.

“I tried that,” she responded, throwing up her hands. “Before I dropped one of the oars,” she added to herself. 

If she couldn't control the boat before, she had little chance now. 

Jack stared at her for a while, then looked around the bank. He stood there, arms hanging by his sides. Coming to a decision, he bent down to tug off his shoes and socks, emptying his pockets onto the pile. 

“Just stay still,” he said. 

With that, he walked into the lake, wading in until the water got deep enough. 

“Jack!” she gasped, a shocked laugh falling out of her open mouth.

He was a good swimmer, as she supposed she ought to have guessed, cutting through the water until he reached the back of the boat. 

He hooked his hands over the edge, popping his head up to look at her. His hair stuck to his forehead, dripping down his face. 

“You're lucky it's a warm day,” he panted. “If this water was much colder I would have made you swim to me.”

“I haven't swum since I was a girl,” she protested.

“Well, then, count your blessings that the farmers managed to settle things faster than I thought,” he said, flashing her that dazzling grin. 

He placed his hands flat against the side of the hull, and kicked out, pushing the boat in front of him. It was slower going than when his only dead weight was his clothing, but in less than three minutes, he was planting his feet in the mud and standing up, water rushing out of his shirt and trousers. He waded to the prow and dragged the boat to the edge. 

Elizabeth watched with rapt attention. Apart from a startled gasp when he yanked her vessel into the shallows, she said nothing. She was rather fascinated at the way his clothes clung to him once they were sodden. The dark blue fabric bunched and hugged his skin, whispering of the precise shapes of muscles in his arms and curves from his shoulders to his back and waist and farther. She knew something of how men must look under their clothes from books, from paintings and fine sculptures and diagrams. But those shapes and curves and elegant details all lurking under Jack's clothes was something she never really put together. 

Her eyes ran over him as he raked his fingers through his hair, as he shoved his sleeves up his arms and shook water from his hands, as he turned to face her. 

“What happened to the other one?”

“Hmm?” she blinked, looking up at his face. Which, perhaps, wasn't all that much better. Pale from the cold of the water, wet eyelashes fanning delicately across his cheekbones as he looked down, cheeky smile on his soft lips… All equally distracting.

“Where's the other oar?” he laughed. 

She broke her focus on him, trying to hold onto her dignity as she stood primly and picked up the small basket and parasol she had brought with her. 

He offered her a hand as she stepped back onto dry land, and though she placed her fingers against his wet skin, she didn't look at him. 

“Elizabeth,” he prompted.

She busied herself with straightening her blouse, and then fiddling with the cover of her book. 

“Elizabeth,” he laughed. “What happened to the oar?”

“I lost it, okay?” she admitted. “I'm not very good at rowing. You were right.” 

“And I'm not very good at braiding hair,” he said easily. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“No one is good at stuff they haven't done before,” he shrugged. “I'll teach you to do it properly, if you want.”

She graced him with a warm smile. Leaning in carefully to avoid getting wet, she brushed her lips against his. Taking the hint, he was careful not to drip on her, brushing his fingers along her jaw gently but otherwise keeping still. 

She shivered at the contact, and he pulled back half an inch. 

“I should go dry off,” he murmured. 

“Come over for dinner tonight?” she murmured back, eyes flicking between his eyes and his lips. 

“If you like,” he agreed.

“I’ll have to think of some way to repay your kindness,” she whispered, leaning closer. 

He didn't reply, but amusement and anticipation danced in his eyes before they drifted shut and he carefully kissed her again. 


End file.
